


Restless

by notmyyacht



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e03 Masquerade, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, post Bad Code
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmyyacht/pseuds/notmyyacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of The Contingency and Bad Code, Finch struggles with his trauma while Reese tries to ease him into opening up about it. But Mr. Finch is a very private person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restless

For the first night, Reese rarely leaves Finch’s side. It’s almost to the point of annoyance, but Finch humors him.

 “You should get some fresh air, Mr. Reese. Can’t be cooped up with me all the time. Go take that dog for a walk,” Finch nearly spits out the last sentence.

Reese does as he’s advised just to give the man some space, if only for an hour at the least.

Finch stays far from the windows and double locks every door and security system in place.

When Reese returns from his walk with Bear he has to call Finch to let him in.

“You alright, Finch?” he asks, unclipping Bear’s leash.

“I’m fine,” Finch replies. He takes a book off the table and disappears between the shelves.

Reese later finds him asleep by his computer monitors. His head rests face down on folded arms, and his lower body sticks out, ready to fall out of the chair. His glasses push up against his forehead into his hairline.

Reese debates on whether he should move him into a more comfortable position or simply drape a blanket over his shoulders. He settles on neither and leans over his employer. He rests a hand on his shoulder and shakes it a little.

“Harold?”

Finch groans and buries his face deeper into his arms, pushing his glasses far enough to unhook from his ears. Reese catches them before they fall. He folds them, but doesn’t set them aside.

“Harold, wake up,” he says louder. His hand on the shoulder tightens a little and he shakes Finch again.

Finch bolts upright with a gasp. He turns his body upward.

“Mr. Reese, what…?” he pinches the bridge of his nose. Reese hands him his glasses, his fingers brushing against Finch’s. He can’t help but notice Finch’s hands are shaking.

“You fell asleep.”

Finch gets to his feet and limps past Reese towards the elevator. Reese easily catches up to him.

“Where you going?”

“To the kitchen,” Finch replies.

“We have a kitchen?”

“Stop following me, Mr. Reese.”

“Been working for you for nearly a year and only now you’re telling me we have a kitchen. Why would I pass up an opportunity to see that?”

“It’s late. Go home and get some sleep,” says Finch, pressing the down button. The doors open and he steps inside. Reese blocks the door from closing.

“Like hell I’m going home,” he says.

Finch is too tired to argue. He nods and Reese backs away from the elevator.

The doors close as Finch pulls out a key. He thrusts the key into the only button on the panel with a lock. With a turn and a press of the button, the elevator descends.

Finch blankly stares at the doors as the elevator takes him down. He never thought he’d have to use the apartment in the library basement for anything other than the chance of a severe storm or if a situation arose and the library became the only safe place for them to be. Frankly, he isn’t fond of having to use it now.

The elevator doors open and Finch walks down a long corridor leading to a door at the end of it. He pulls a key out of his pocket, unlocks the door, and goes inside. He flicks on the light.

The room is more of a very large hole in the wall than an apartment, with a tiny kitchen area to the right, a dresser and a twin-sized bed, and a door to the left leading into a bathroom.

Finch closes the door behind him and leans up against it. The silence is deafening. Finch’s own heartbeat pounds in his ears. His chest heaves faster and suddenly the small room is feeling way too small and his tie is a little too tight.

He quickly undoes the tie and unbuttons the vest and dress shirt. He tears them from his body and throws them onto the bed. The cool basement air assaults his warm skin. He shivers and wraps his arms around himself as he tries to regain control of his breathing.

It passes and Finch’s muscles relax. He picks up the shirt, vest and tie and brings them over to the dresser where he folds and puts them away. He strips the remainder of his clothes and sets them neatly in the drawer.

He turns off the light then goes over to the bed and crawls under the covers. It takes two hours before Finch’s eyes finally droop.

_It’s alright. John’s upstairs_ , he thinks before finally allowing fatigue take over.

\--

_“Bad code, Harold. It’s all people are. Bad code.”_

Finch awakens covered in a cold sweat. His heart pounds against his rib cage.

_It’s only a dream, Harold… only a dream._

He doesn’t fall back asleep.

\--

Reese wakes up in one of the cushioned chairs situated behind the bookshelves the next morning after roughly three hours of sleep. He blinks a few times before checking his watch. Six forty-five.

As if sensing Reese’s wakefulness, Bear bolts from around a shelf, leash in mouth. The dog sits in front of Reese and drops the leash at his feet.

“Good morning to you, too.”

The walk around the block works better than caffeine. It’s surprisingly chilly for late May, but Reese finds it more refreshing. The streets are, as always, busy. Reese smiles slightly. New York City used to be such foreign ground but now it’s home.

Bear’s nose rises to sniff the fresh air. He stays close to Reese, enjoying the nice weather. His mouth hangs slightly open, pulled back lips give the impression of a smile on his face.

“At least that makes one of us,” Reese mutters as they turn a corner, and come upon the library. Reese stops and looks up at the building.

It’s a fortress, a castle. Inside lies sleeping beauty, traumatized after a horrible experience with a jealous witch. What can the flawed, brave prince do now but be there for him?  

But it’s Finch. He’s far more capable than some blond who couldn’t resist touching a sharp needle. Finch has done everything for Reese and he couldn’t even keep him safe this one time.

Bear nudges his nose against his master’s knee.

“Alright, Bear. We’re going. But first, let’s go make a quick stop.”

\--

What are you dreaming of, sleeping beauty?

Is it of books and chewed up first editions? The lost love Grace? Or perhaps of your child that the witch sought for? In your dreams, does it speak to you? Does it tell you how sorry it was for not helping sooner? No, you forgive it because it’s only a machine and does what it’s programmed to do. The contingency that you, yourself, put in place.

Tell me, sleeping beauty, does code dance at your fingertips as you float about in cyberspace? Is it lonely there?

Is that even sleep you’re experiencing?

\--

Finch glances over at the clock on the bedside table. Nearly eight. He supposes sleep really isn’t going to come and he might as well get up and make himself relatively presentable.

\--

Reese returns to the library with donuts, a coffee for himself, and a sencha green tea. He sets the drinks and donuts on the table then unclips Bear from the leash. He briefly wonders how long Finch will sleep.

He sits down in front of the computer monitors and starts pulling up files on Root’s childhood.

\--

“Is there something you’d like to say to me, Mr. Reese?”

“Just if you ever want to…”

“No, I don’t need to talk about it.”

“I was just going to say, if you ever wanted to grab a beer… let me know.”

They discuss the new number. It’s not until Reese is about ready to leave and start tailing her that Finch notices the tea and donuts.

Finch sips from the cup. It’s not as hot as when it was bought, but it’s enough to settle the anxiety brewing in the pit of Finch’s stomach.

“Thank you, Mr. Reese.”

“You’re welcome.”

\--

_No, can’t be outside. No escape. Too vulnerable. She could be out there waiting. There are too many people... Must get back inside. Inside!_

“Mr. Reese, I seem to be having a bit of a… complication. I’m afraid I won’t be able to meet you.”

“No problem, Harold.”

Reese’s calm demeanor is strangely soothing. Finch sits down and waits for the anxiety to pass.

One more way that he has become physically unable to help. Finch squeezes his eyes shut.

_He needed you, that’s why he came for you_ , he tells himself.

Bear’s snout wriggles its way into Finch’s hands. Finch regards the dog then scratches its head with a small smile.

There’s something about Bear that’s rather comforting. Perhaps it’s the large eyes or the way that he looks like he’s smiling up at Finch. The company he gives.

\--

With Sofia safe, Reese tells him that it’s time for that beer.

Upon Finch’s request they don’t get beers, but dinner. He picks out a small, but fancy place.

When they’ve sat down and ordered, Reese doesn’t push. They sit in silence until their food arrives.

“I suppose I should talk about what happened,” Finch starts once the waiter walks off.

“In your own time, Harold.”

“I’m not exactly sure how to start,” Finch reaches for his glass of wine. His gaze falls on his bandaged hand and he pauses. It hurt when she slid the blade through his skin, the small amount of blood that pooled in his hand…

Finch knocks his wine glass over. The red liquid spills over the edge of the tablecloth. He jumps to his feet and fumbles an apology to the waiter rushing over to clean it up.

When the waiter cleans up as much as he can and leaves, Reese asks Finch if he’s all right. Finch mutters a quick “yes” and sits back down.

“No, I don’t think you are, Harold.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not all right. I know you’re a private person, but-”

“John, please!” Finch stares down at his potatoes, his hands balled tightly into fists on the edge of the table.

Reese doesn’t glance around at the people sitting nearby who are flashing them looks that would read ‘take your drama elsewhere and let us eat in peace.’ Instead, Reese sits patient and calm. He waits for Finch to say something, which he does.

“Root… kidnapped me. She threatened innocent people and almost harmed some. She killed a man in front of me then drugged me.” Finch pauses then looks up at him, “You’re right, John, I’m not all right.”

Finch spares a quick glance around the restaurant then allows his gaze to fall back to Reese.

“Would you mind if we left?”

“Not at all.”

They return to the library.

Out of habit, Finch heads over to the computer monitors. Reese takes his time to follow after him.

Bear greets him with a lick on the back of his hand. Reese pats his head and scratches behind his ear. Satisfied with the greeting, Bear runs over to Finch, now sitting in his chair. He rests his head on Finch’s lap.

“You going to be up much longer?” Reese asks.

“Why?”

“Well, I want to see this secret kitchen you’ve been keeping from me. Show me?”

Finch pats Bear’s head then gets to his feet.

“Blijven,” Reese says to Bear before following Finch to the elevator. Bear goes over to his bed and lies down.

“Go home, Mr. Reese.” Finch limps into the elevator, ignoring the pain shooting up his back from the stress.

“Not this again, Harold.”

“Please don’t follow me, John,” Finch jams the key into the lock and presses the button. The doors close on Reese once again.

Reese rests his forehead on the door, palms flat against the surface.

“Damn it, Harold.”

\--

Someone’s humming. Humming and stroking his hair. His head is in someone’s lap. He cracks his eyes open and shuts them almost as soon. Too bright. He groans, raising an arm to block out the harsh light.

A soft hand gently holds onto his wrist and has him lower it.

“Shh Harold. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Grace…?”

“Don’t open your eyes, Harold.”

But he needs to see her.

“Grace?” he tries opening his eyes again, but Grace’s hand covers them before the light can pour in.

“No.”

“Grace please-”

Another, rougher hand grips his wrist.

“Take it easy.”

“N-Nathan? Why won’t you let me look at you?”

“Because we’re not really here,” says Nathan.

“Where is here?”

“The Machine,” Grace replies.

Finch bolts upright, Grace’s hand still manages to stay covering his eyes.

“What’s happening?” Finch can hear his voice echoing. Grace tries to shush him again.

“Nathan, how is this-? Grace, please get off me.”

Grace digs her fingers around his shoulder.

“Calm down, Harold. It will all be over soon,” says Nathan.

“What!?”

The hand on his shoulder starts squeezes tighter.

“Grace, please stop!”

Nathan’s free hand covers Finch’s mouth as Grace’s fingers dig through until they pierce skin. Paralyzed, Finch emits a muffled scream. His shoulder quickly becomes warm and damp.

Nathan removes his hand and Finch whimpers, “John, _help_.”

A laugh echoes in his ear and he can feel hot breath down his neck.

“Sorry, Harold.”

“You…”

“John isn’t coming this time.”

The hand on Finch’s eyes finally releases him. He doesn’t need his glasses and his back injury doesn’t hurt. Only the hand still hooked into his shoulder.

His wide, blue eyes stare into the vastness. Blocks of images of street corners and sidewalks fly by him.

Grace and Nathan are nowhere to be seen. Finch turns to the hand imbedded into his shoulder. He follows the skin up the wrist to the owner. Root smiles back at him.

“The Machine,” she says, “she’s more beautiful than I ever imagined.”

Root’s hand twists slightly and Finch feels nauseous. He moves forward, trying to push himself away. Root chuckles at Finch’s weak movements.

“What did you do to me?”

“Oh, just a little sedative.”

Finch grits his teeth and gives one sharp tug. Root’s claws unhook from his shoulder and suddenly Finch is falling.

“Can’t get out that way!” Root calls after him.

Finch attempts to grab ahold of one of the images as he falls. His fingers slide off them, unable to get a grip.

“Help please! _Help_!”

Root is still laughing as Finch reaches the end of the mass of images, below is only a black void.

Finch’s head hits the pillow and his eyes fly open.

He glances over at the clock. It’s a little after two in the morning. His trembling hand reaches over and turns on the lamp, illuminating the tiny apartment.

Finch throws the covers aside and turns his body to get out of the bed. He stumbles into a pair of slippers then heads for the elevator.

\--

Reese looks up from a hardcover of Mary Shelley at the sound of the elevator. He closes the book without leaving a marker and gets up from the cushioned seat in the library corner.

He shuffles through the shelves and spots Finch standing over by the computer monitors, his back to the gate.

Reese slowly approaches him, taking in Finch’s attire of light blue boxers and white t-shirt. Seeing the billionaire in something other than the tailored suits always baffles Reese. Seeing him in not much of anything is enough to put some red in his cheeks.

Bear remains curled up on his bed, eyes closed but ears perked up in attention.

“Good evening, Mr. Reese, or should I say morning?” Finch doesn’t turn around. “Guess I should have known that you wouldn’t go home… again.”

“Harold?”

Finch turns to face him at last, a photo of Root in his hand. He shrugs.

“I suppose this will take some time. I just wanted to thank you for coming for me even when you shouldn’t have.”

“Harold…” Finch holds up a hand.

“You still want to see the top secret kitchen?”

Reese gives a small smile.

\--

“This place is not at all like you, Finch,” Reese says with a smirk when the door to the tiny apartment opens.

Reese takes no time lingering in the doorway and immediately approaches the kitchen area. He smiles and raises his hands.

“This is the top secret kitchen?”

“Well, it’s only for emergencies, Mr. Reese. It’s not meant for entertaining dinner parties.”

Finch closes the door as Reese pokes around, opening and closing each of the three cupboards and empty refrigerator.

“Mr. Reese,” Finch starts.

Reese whips around.

“I can still hear Mr. Weeks’ ragged breathing,” says Finch. “He was going to shoot me. After I told him Root could never get to The Machine, he pointed his gun at me. All I could think in that moment was how much of a fool I was… and how much I wished you would come crashing through the door and save me at the last second.”

“Sorry I was late.”

The corner of Finch’s mouth twitches upward.

“I still can’t get her voice out of my head. It’s been keeping me up at night. Her words echoing in my ears.”

Reese puts his hands on Finch’s upper arms.

“You don’t have to listen.”

“I know, but I can’t…” Finch’s eyes are wet as he looks up at Reese.

Reese’s hands slide over his shoulders and neck. His thumbs rest on Finch’s jawline.

Finch doesn’t know why he isn’t pulling away. This is close. Perhaps too close. But Finch doesn’t want to stop him. Not even when Reese leans down to gently press his lips against Finch’s.

Finch doesn’t react at first. He stands still as he feels Reese’s surprisingly soft, warm lips linger there. When he feels Reese starting to move back, he reacts. Finch wraps his arms around Reese’s neck, pulling him back down into a firmer kiss.

He desperately pulls himself up against Reese, one hand buried in his short dark hair, while the other clings to Reese’s back. Their mouths part only a moment for breath before they collide again.

Finch whispers “ _John_ ” into his mouth.

Reese grabs hold of Finch’s shoulders and gently pushes him back, their foreheads resting against one other.

“John, why did you come for me?”

“Because you saved me, gave me a second chance. And I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.”

“Well, I guess that makes two of us,” Finch says before pulling Reese into another kiss.

\--

Finch stares up at the ceiling. Reese lies next to him, softly breathing into the crook of his neck with one arm draped over Finch’s chest.

_Reese really is proof_ , he thinks. Proof that Root may see with her own eyes, but could never understand. Reese is proof of everything. People can change. People are not bad code. That’s why Reese came for him.

Finch flexes his bandaged hand in the dark. The cut itches. A reminder that she’s still out there.

_It doesn’t matter_ , Finch muses, stroking his thumb in lazy circles on Reese’s back, _we’ll be ready. John and I._

For the first time in days, Finch is able to sleep soundly that night.


End file.
